


Southern Reconstruction

by dazebras



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aromantic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazebras/pseuds/dazebras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Hannibal's destruction, Will struggles to reclaim a piece of himself.  He laughs openly now at native Virginians who think they live in the South and makes his own grits because the Baltimore Cracker Barrel sucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Southern Reconstruction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GloriaVictoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaVictoria/gifts).



> Dedicated to Victoria, who's been headcanon jamming with me a lot about southern-transplant!Will recently.
> 
> I didn't try to recreate Will's accent in text, because I usually find that sort of thing patronizing outside of stream-of-consciousness works. 
> 
> This is set about two years post-Mizumono.
> 
> I did not set out to write Will/Frederick in a committed aromantic partnership, but that's what happened.
> 
> Edited for grammar 5/6/16.

Will's Southern heritage was something he had buried years ago, wrapped up and locked away like the finest of china only brought out for special occasions. He hadn't wanted to deny that part of himself, but he'd looked around at all his friends and colleagues living in a world fundamentally different from his. So he held it safe and secret in his heart and erased all outward traces of it.

And now,he found himself different from everyone around him for another reason. Hannibal Lecter had seen to that. He had seen things - done things - that made him separate from the common man. He decided he cared more about shutting that away than the other thing.

Besides, he had someone now that he could trust, whom by all rights he should be able to share his secrets - Frederick Chilton. An unlikely match to be sure, but they'd bonded on the aftermath of the wreckage Hannibal had left behind, first becoming confidants and then occasional lovers. It was something that happened rarely with little warning when the emptiness of the night became too much, but it worked for them. They found solace in each other's skin and company, and however infrequent their intimate encounters were compared to the amount of time they otherwise spent together, they were far from impersonal. And so, Will decided that since Frederick knew almost every other part of him, it was time he shared this.

He decided to introduce it slowly. The next time it was his turn to make dinner for the two of them, he decided to make an old favorite he'd found no one north of the Mason Dixon line could get quite right: shrimp gumbo.

"I didn't know you knew how to make Cajun food." Frederick leaned over the stove at his elbow to sniff appreciatively at the mixture as Will stirred urgently.

"Technically it's Creole since I put tomatoes in." Will adjusted his glasses and did his best to ignore the distraction of Frederick's warmth at his side. He was thankful that the other man had quickly learned that Will never intended to be rude when he corrected him. He knew his tone was often more terse than he intended it to be. "It's a different set of spices too."

"Show off," Frederick said with a smile. "Is that shrimp?"

"Yes. You can't make real gumbo without some sort of meat in it."

"They make vegetarian gumbo."

Will rolled his eyes. "Vegetarian gumbo isn't real gumbo. If it's going to bother you, you can pick it out." He shooed Frederick away fondly with his free hand. "Go set the table or something."

It took about another hour for Will to finish cooking. He waited, spoon in hand, until Frederick took his first bite. He knew it was silly to be nervous about something so simple, but he felt his shoulders tense with the beginnings of anxiety.

Frederick shoveled a greedy bite into his mouth and didn't try to hide his surprise at the taste. With his mouth full, he exclaimed, "This is very good. I'm impressed."

"Glad you like it." Will finally took a bite of his own. The seasonings wasn't quite how he remembered it - too much paprika - since he'd had to cut the recipe that could have easily served ten people. He'd also left out the andouille sausage out of courtesy for Frederick's diet. But with his friend's approval, Will eased into a more relaxed posture, subconsciously mimicking Frederick.

Frederick let his eyes flutter shut and made a small noise if pleasure that left Will hoping it would be one of those nights that Frederick decided to spend the night. "The last time I had gumbo this good was when I was in New Orleans for a conference five years ago. Where'd you learn to cook like this?"

"My dad's friend taught me when I was in high school."

"Well," Frederick said, pausing to take a swig of his drink, "my compliments to the chef."

 

 

Several weeks later, Will invited Frederick over to help with the yard work. This mainly consisted of Frederick lounging on the back porch sipping lemonade while he watched Will sweat through his white T-shirt. Will decided that he'd humor his excuses that manipulating a shovel to help Will prepare the small vegetable garden he'd finally gotten to starting tugged too much on his residual stomach injuries in return for his company and tasked him with making sure the dogs didn't wander off too far.

Will had just finished breaking the ground and leaned against his shovel to catch his breath when he heard Frederick call, "Will? What is this pitcher doing out here?"

Will squinted up to see him scowling at the clear pitcher of brown liquid Will had put on the deck rail hours ago. "That's been out here longer than you have. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed it."

Frederick merely cocked an eyebrow at him. "I was _reading._ "

He grinned and swung the shovel across his shoulders and braced it behind his neck. As he swaggered up the steps he could feel Frederick's taking in the way his damp shirt clung to the breadth of his shoulders. "It's sun tea. My dad and I used to make it off the back of his boat."

"What's sun tea?"

"It's just ice tea." Will leaned the shovel against the side of the house and flopped down in the deck chair next to Frederick's. "Instead of boiling it, you plop a couple tea bags in some water and let the sun do the work."

"In that case," Frederick said haughtily, holding out his empty glass, "you can pour me some."

Will chuckled but took the glass from him. "You're a riot. I'll get you some more lemonade. The tea won't be finished for another couple hours."

Frederick merely hummed at him in acknowledgement and returned to his book.

 

 

Will wasn't sure what sort if reaction he had been expecting, but Frederick had blithely accepted all the introductions he had made to their relationship. He supposed it didn't matter since his reclamation project was for his own benefit, but he couldn't help the sharp spike of worry as he realized his next step would be far less subtle. It'd been ages since he'd heard his own accent. It had been the hardest thing to get rid off, far more difficult than it was to stop trying to order sweet tea in restaurants. He'd gotten sniggers from classmates whenever it slipped out when he drank until he learned to eliminate it entirely.

He practiced it by himself to the dogs. The lengthened vowels felt strange and foreign in his mouth. It sound fake, like the imitations of his accent he'd had hurled across the quad at him, and he hated it. He briefly entertained the thought of Hannibal's reaction to it before quickly shoving it aside.

One morning, after more than a week of practicing, he woke up, and it came effortlessly. His accent was one of those blends you pick up from moving around the South for most of your life: some Louisiana, a little Georgia, and a smidgen of Carolina. God, it had been so long since he'd heard the sound of his own voice. It was like wrapping up in a warm blanket in front of the fire on a chilly winter night. It clung to his tongue like the taste of bar smoke to whiskey. For once it sounded natural to speak slowly while his brain processed the different options. He felt at home in his own skin. He hadn't thought it would take something so simple.

People talk about southern accents as being "thick," but in truth they are the exact opposite. They are smooth in the mouth like honeyed tea. They warm the insides like August sunshine on a grassy field. Southerners don't speak around their tongues; instead, the syllables flows liquid through their mouths like they're tubing down a lazy summer creek.

Once Will had started using his accent, he found it hard to stop. He struggled through inviting Frederick over for dinner, and he wasn't quite sure that he managed to keep it toned down. He let it slip out during the meal bit by bit, until by he end it was as true as it could be.

Frederick, who had been eyeing him with suspicion throughout he evening, finally sighed and set down his slice of cornbread, brushing the crumbs off his fingers in a finicky way that made the light flash off his ring. "Okay, what's going on?"

This was the moment Will had been anticipating with little eagerness. He'd known it was coming and had prepared himself, but he found himself stalling regardless. With unconvincing innocence, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

Frederick gave him a look that said loud and clear that he wasn't going to allow Will to run away from this conversation. "The accent. The sudden interest in Southern cooking. We watched Mississippi Burning last week."

"It's a good movie."

"That's not the point," Frederick pressed. "You're acting strangely, and I want to know why."

"I'm just..." Will trailed off helplessly. He forced himself to focus on the spot above Frederick's left shoulder. "Trying to be true to myself, I guess. I've been a lot of people recently, and I'm tired of pretending."

Frederick shoved his plate away so that he could lean his elbows on the table and rest his chin on his folded hands. He was psychoanalyzing him, Will recognized, but he didn't try to stop him. Frederick had learned that just because Will let one of his walls down, it wasn't an invitation to take a tour through all of Will's mental landscape. "How exactly does all this," he made a sweeping gesture in Will's general direction, "constitute 'being yourself?'"

Will gathered himself, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, while Frederick waited patently. "You do know I'm from the South, right?"

"It was in your file, yes."

"And you never thought it was strange that I didn't have an accent?"

"No.  People lose their accents over time."

Will snorted out a laugh.  "City folk, maybe.  People from the Bayou, people from the rural areas only lose it if they try."

Frederick watched him with interest.  "So you lost yours on purpose.  Why?"

"It made me stand out when I went to George Mason for my MA.  I learned very quickly that people up North equate Southern accents with low intelligence and won't take you seriously if you have one."  Not that it was any different in a big city down south if you had a rural accent.  You still had a lot of shit to deal with if your family came from the wrong county.

"George Mason is in Virginia."

Will laughed.  "Virginia is not the South.  That's what people from New England like to tell themselves when they go on vacation.  Besides, Fairfax is full of DC-types - all politician wannabes.

Frederick grinned and relaxed back into his chair.  "I suppose that's true.  Are you going to speak like this on a regular basis now, or is it a private thing?"

Will gathered their dishes, letting Frederick snatch the remnants of his cornbread off his plate, and began packing away the leftovers.  "I haven't decided yet." 

"Well, not that you need it, but you have my approval and support."

"Thank you, Frederick."  Will swallowed around the lump of gratitude in his throat.

"Besides," he said silkily, "I think it's kind of sexy."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."  Frederick crossed to him, inserting himself into Will's personal space in a way that sent a firecracker of desire ricocheting through his stomach as he dug is fingers into the flesh of Will's hips.

"Well," Will curled his hand behind Frederick's neck and drew him close so that they breathed the same air, "I guess you'd better give me something to talk about."

He felt Frederick grin against his mouth as he pressed their lips together.  Will let him steer him backwards into the living room as they continued to kiss, sending a flurry of dogs scampering for other rooms.  Will tossed his glasses in the direction of the dresser, but he didn't have the chance to see if they made it there.  When Frederick pushed him down on the bed, Will pulled the other man on top of him, eager for Frederick's weight in his lap.  Will tried to kiss him again, but he grabbed Will by the jaw and tipped his head so that he could mouth along his neck.

"Frederick," Will breathed, as he licked up the line of his neck to the edge of Will's stubble and sucked a kiss there.  Frederick moaned against his skin at the sound of his name, all soft consonants.  His words slurred together as a product of both his accent and arousal, "Do you want to fuck me tonight?"

Frederick pulled back to look him in the eye, and Will felt a thrill of seeing - _knowing_ \- how much Frederick wanted him.  "I most definitely would."

It was moments like these that Will was grateful for his enhanced empathy.  He lost himself in the sensations - both his and Frederick's - of skin on skin.  Frederick pressed kisses to his stomach as he rucked up Will's shirt, and he felt the same need to taste.  Will yanked his shirt over his head and pulled Frederick up to kiss him again.  He sucked a livid mark into his collarbone as he struggled to unbutton Frederick's dress shirt.  He'd love to rip it open but knew Frederick would never forgive him for ruining his clothes.  Frederick's wrists got caught in his sleeves when Will peeled it down his arms, and he laughed, happy and easy.

"You forgot to undo the cuffs," Frederick accused.

"Nope," Will denied, palming his ass and encouraging him to rock his groin against his thigh.  "That was your responsibility."

"Mine?"  Frederick ground his cock against Will's hip so he could feel length of him.  Will nipped at his jaw in response, making Frederick groan.  "You know what?  Just get naked."

He rolled off Will, and they hurriedly shimmed out of the rest of their clothes.  Frederick straddled him again and let Will circle a fingertip around his asshole as he fisted their cocks together.  Will dipped his finger inside Frederick and wound his other hand through his hair, mussing the neatly gelled locks.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one fucking you."

"Then I guess you'd better get to it." he teased, curling a finger in search of Frederick's prostate, causing his hips to stutter forward.

Frederick scrambled for the condoms and lube on the side table.  He prepped Will efficiently, waiting until he was shoving his hips back onto his fingers before lining the head of his cock up with Will's entrance.

"You want me to fuck you?"  Will tried to block out the feeling of Frederick's need to be reassured and ground out a yes.  He couldn't help but squirm in anticipation as Frederick remained motionless.  "Then you're going to have to talk to me while I fuck you.  If you're not talking, I'm not moving."

"Fine, fine.  Just -" Frederick slammed into him in one smooth motion, and Will threw his head back with a moan.  "Oh, god."

Frederick set a steady pace, pausing to stroke Will's cock whenever his stomach pains demanded he take a break.  Will felt ridiculous babbling the entire time, but Frederick's groans urged him on.  When the pleasure got too close to whiting out the world and he could only pant, Frederick stilled his hips.

He grinned down at Will wolfishly and whispered, "You better speak up."

"You're the worst.  The absolute worst."  Will clutched at his shoulders to ground himself as Frederick started moving again.  He was so close.  "God, the things you do to me."

"Yeah?  What do I do to you?"

"God, you -"  Will raked his nails up Frederick's back.  He knew that whenever Frederick topped, he liked to bear the marks of their encounter on his skin the next day.  "You make me feel so much, too much.  It fills me up so that there's no room for the bad stuff."

That was more than he should have said. That was beyond the bounds of this friends-with-benefits thing they had.  It was also really lame.  Will squeezed his eyes shut to block out the countless scenarios of Frederick walking out of his life.

Frederick growled and crushed their mouths together.  He fisted his hands in Will's curls and tilted his head back.  "I want you to look me in the eyes when you come."

Will opened his eyes to see Frederick staring down at him hungrily.  It was seeing himself reflected in Frederick's blackened pupils merging with the echo of himself through Frederick's perspective that set him off.  His orgasm ripped through him, leaving him feeling light and clean and empty.  Frederick finished several moments later and collapsed beside him.  They laid content beside each other while they cooled down.  Eventually, Will felt Frederick stir.

"Since you've been open with me tonight, I feel as though I should do the same."  Frederick cleared his throat before continuing, "I'm not saying this because I want things between us to change.  Our arrangement is perfect as it is, and I don't think I would want it any other way.  But I wanted you to know that I regard you more highly than people who are just friends typically do."

It wasn't an admission of love, at least not in any romantic sense, but it was precious nonetheless.  Will felt it take the place in his heart where he'd kept the memories of his life back home locked away, a soft heat like sun-warmed river rock between his palms.  He supposed that once you shared a secret you always managed to dig up another one.

Will slid his hand across the mattress until he found Frederick's and twined their fingers together.  "Good."


End file.
